Dear Kelly Belly,

Wow. We just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. EVERY infant has “that bad night”. Some have them endlessly (I’m not naming any names). And here we are at Month 2, and every night, you sleep. You get up twice with at least 15 minutes of a quiet grunting notification. No crying, no screaming. When I arrive at your bedside at 3 am, I am met with endless gummy grins. When you are done eating, you burp and go back to sleep. It is more wonderful than a John Cusack movie marathon on TNT.  And John is sitting next to me, asking me to call him “JC”, which I insist is too personal.  And he’s telling me how funny Jeremy Piven is, and I’m telling him the soundtrack to Grosse Pointe Blank is pure genius….wait, what was I talking about?

Kelly, you should know that your Dad and I agree we can leave each other for ONE movie star.  My loyalties to JC run back to middle school.  Your father?  Poor Greg,  his women have all married no talent ass clowns, as he calls them.  First he had Jennifer Garner on his list.  That ended long ago.  He replaced her with Katie Holmes.  Please steer clear of all religions invented by science fiction writers that have been declared illegal by European countries.  He tried Keira Knightley for a while, until I convinced him she might be a boy.  And finally, Rachel McAdams.  Then she starred in “The Notebook”.  Stand alone proof that not all books make for good movies.   No, I’m not joking. Don’t rent it. I had to watch Steven Seagal movies just to wash the taste out of my mouth.

I have always suspected that if I had another child, my Grandma, a rookie up in heaven, would walk over to the Guf and pick you out. I look at you and see everything she loved in babies. You honest to God look like a chubby cherub from those cheesy greeting cards. You are covered in fat rolls (that are impossible to wash I will have you know). You actually coo. I thought cooing was something Hollywood made up to make television babies endearing. You gurgle and smile and make all sorts of hilariously wonderful sounds. I look at you and hope to see her in your gaze, but I never do. I miss her so much that it hurts my soul. But I know she has held and kissed you. I can hear her in my head, “KID! She is the sweetest baby in all of heaven! Yeah-us!” And these, perhaps ridiculous thoughts, my baby girl, bring peace to my heart. You are named for her and my endlessly cool Grandpa. Should you ever complain that you were named for people you barely knew, I will gently remind you that you know them through me. They have been my cornerstone, just as I promise to be yours.

Daddy’s favorite Kelly-ism is your laugh when he tickles you. He makes this funny “ba ba ba” sound while he tickles you, and you flat out giggle. We had set our expectations that you MIGHT acknowledge our humble presence at about 10 months. But with every look, you seem to say, “Hey you people! I like you a lot!” Sometimes you’ll stop mid-cry (the one time per week that you actually break down and cry for maybe 30 whole seconds) and just start smiling. Like, as if to say, “Yeah, I was just trying that out. Whatever. What should we do now?!”

And so our party continues. Apparently you, just like your sister, have inherited your Daddy’s immune system. A cold ran through the house. You and Sara slept it off with one nap. Daddy got a sore throat for 2 whole days. We almost called 911. So I’m waiting my turn, in which I’ll probably turn it into ebola. I swear, if my immune system doesn’t return now that I’m at the procreation finish line, I may have to commit hara-kiri. But I digress.

So bring it on sista’. We’re ready for whatever game you feel you need to bring. BUT, should feel like continuing on this current course, I see mucho STICKERS in your future. Huh? Sound good?

Your ardent admirers,

Mommy & Daddy